


Come Sunrise

by dreamingoutloud



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Years, i just love these boys okay, les amis being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9152668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingoutloud/pseuds/dreamingoutloud
Summary: At a rowdy Christmas party, Enjolras fights to get the courage to admit some things he's been feeling...and mostly fails.  Fortunately, New Years Eve gives him the chance to make it right.  Instead, he's the one taken by surprise.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elliebeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebeth/gifts).



> It's like the little drummer boy. Elliebeth bought me a lovely Christmas gift, but I am super poor and she knows it but loves me and spoils me in spite of it. So I give her fics for her gift. Even if it's a week late. So hey, two holidays are better than one??

Christmas had always been Enjolras’ favorite holiday. He knew what his friends thought about him. That he had no feelings besides a passion for equality and justice. That he was a statue of marble, stone faced and uncaring, generally. But for approximately one month a year, he transformed almost completely. His face lit up at the festive lights, he sang Christmas carols despite the uncertainty he typically felt about his singing voice, and he spoiled his friends and family with every gift he could afford. His need for equality wasn’t dampened in the slightest by the holiday, but he approached it differently. Rather than rowdy protests and strongly worded speeches, he gave. He gave all of himself, donating and volunteering and being wherever he felt he was the most needed.

So he transformed from a man who ordinarily stoically stood in the corner watching at his friends’ parties to the life of the party when Combeferre threw his holiday party. It had to be called a holiday party specifically because Jehan was Jewish and Joly had decided to be Buddhist that year. Enjolras wasn’t entirely certain what he believed yet, but he was still entirely willing to celebrate the secular portions of the holiday season, no matter what. 

He was laughing at the ridiculously cheesy, pun-filled joke Courfeyrac had just told when he noticed him. There was something that drew him to Grantaire. Something that made him stand out. Something other than the man’s ability to obnoxiously interrupt Enjolras when he was trying to make a point, or his raucous behavior when the others had settled down to debate properly. It was more the words he used to interrupt, the intelligent arguments he raised and the talented authors he quoted. No matter how he might try to make it sound, Enjolras could see the truth. Grantaire wasn’t simply listening to his discussions; he was participating and helping, in his own stand-out way.

It also didn’t hurt that those eyes were a piercing blue and that Enjolras felt like they could see right through him if he wasn’t careful. But that wasn’t entirely the point.

Excusing himself, he made his way to the dark haired man’s side, knowing Courf’s eyes were on him the whole time. “Not sneaking brandy into the eggnog, are you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone playful. 

Apparently it hadn’t worked. Might have been the nerves. Grantaire’s face turned cold, the offense in his eyes glaringly obvious. “Do you really think I’d do that?” he questioned, his voice low and even. “I don’t force anyone to drink.”

Anxiously, Enjolras bit his lower lip. It was a habit he had to give up if he wanted to make a career of public speaking. “No. No I don’t think that. I was teasing. I promise.” Offering a tiny smile, he made a great show of drawing a cross over his heart with his index finger. “See? Cross my heart.”

Grantaire’s handsome face relaxed slightly and he held up his cup. “Well, then. Cheers, I suppose. Can I get you a drink done with flair?”

He hesitated. A part of him wanted to take the man up on it. Liquid courage and all that. Maybe a shot of brandy or two would be enough to loosen his tongue, to get him to speak the words he’d been contemplating for a month now. Still, he shook his head slowly. “No, thank you. I’ll stick with the straight stuff.” Reaching towards the punch bowl, he poured a plastic cup of the dairy-based beverage and took a sip. “Wait. Why do we drink this at all?”

For that, Grantaire grinned. And Enjolras realized he’d make all the lame comments known to man if it meant he’d get that grin. “You know, Apollo, I ask myself this every Christmas, and yet here we are. There’s a reason I spike mine.”

“This is awful,” Enjolras couldn’t help but agree, pulling a face. Still, he refused to waste anything when so many went without, so he began drinking it in gulps rather than sips. The faster he finished it, the better. “Having fun?” Of course he was. Grantaire seemed to bring the party everywhere with him. 

Yet to his surprise, Grantaire shrugged his shoulders, suddenly avoiding his eyes. “I’m not a huge fan of this time of year. I only came because Joly asked and Ferre is cute when he begs.”

That was the moment that Enjolras realized that while he might find the man fascinating, he probably didn’t know him nearly as well as he liked to think. That and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around anyone not enjoying Christmas. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why not?” Because, despite the obvious signs that Grantaire didn’t want to discuss it further, he didn’t know how to leave well enough alone. 

Which he realized he should have after the next words out of his friend’s mouth. “My parents died right before Christmas. It isn’t exactly my favorite.” 

How could he have forgotten? How had he let himself get so wrapped up in politics and talks of revolution that he’d forgotten when the man who’d been in his life for so long had lost his family? “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. They’d never been overly close but Enjolras getting wrapped up in school politics and Grantaire turning to drinking had driven a wedge between them that hadn’t allowed them to get any closer. 

To his credit, Grantaire shrugged his shoulders and took another long swallow of the drink in his hand. “It is what it is. It gets easier. I just have a hard time with all the celebrating going on around me.”

That seemed fair. Enjolras couldn’t imagine a darker moment pushing him away from his favorite holiday. But they’d been talking, and in at least a friendly manner, and he desperately wanted to get that feeling back. “Does this mean I can’t get you to sing carols with me?” he teased, his lips turning up in a hint of a smirk.

The darker haired man laughed, then, a genuine sound that reminded Enjolras of a younger man, one without the darkness behind his eyes that Grantaire seemed to carry. “I’m afraid you’d be better off getting Joly for that. I make it a point to not sing carols.” 

A reminder flickered at the back of Enjolras’ memory. “But you could play them, couldn’t you? You played piano. Back in school.” 

And he would swear the man’s ice blue eyes lit up, warming to something more resembling an early morning sky. “Yeah, I do. Did. Well. Do. I still can. I just don’t as often.” The unspoken reason why sat between them as they both glanced down at the cup in Grantaire’s hand.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Enjolras blurted, then immediately flushed red. Grantaire’s choices weren’t his to make. If he wanted to drink, that was his choice. Even if it meant he’d likely drink himself into an early grave. Even if it was killing the ambitious young artist that they’d all met years ago. The teenager they’d met had been eager to travel the world, painting it as he went. Now, he simply carried a sketchbook everywhere, scribbling what he could when he could. 

Fine. No. He wasn’t sorry he’d said it, even if that finely built jaw set tightly as Enjolras’ words washed over him. “Yeah? Maybe it isn’t that easy, Apollo. Maybe I wish I wouldn’t, too, but it isn’t as simple as all that.”

A part of Enjolras realized there was a party going on around them. He accepted that the others were attempting some ridiculous drinking game and that Cosette stood in the corner, clearly perplexed by what sort of crowd she’d gotten wrapped up in. Bossuet was playing the air guitar to some Transiberian Orchestra and Jehan was attempting to make up words to the song to go with it, despite the carol having its own very traditional lyrics.

None of that mattered, given the look Grantaire was giving him just then. A silent plea, begging him to understand. And he did. He might not have been an alcoholic, but he had his own defense mechanisms, his own attempts to push the world away and keep the people around him at arm’s length. The look in Grantaire’s eyes seemed to understand that; he seemed to know that Enjolras’ constant fight against authority was his way of coping with a bitter and cold world. He just wanted to make things better. And that included Grantaire.

He was going to say so, he was actually going to blurt that out and so much more, but the sound of Courfeyrac whooping behind him made him turn around. “Well, well, look who’s found themselves under the mistletoe!” And from the mischievous expression on his close friend’s face, Enjolras didn’t even have to glance up to know the answer. His heart plummeted to his stomach, his stomach threatened to take its place, or travel even further, up and out. This had definitely not been in the plans.

In typical Enjolras fashion, his face went red and he looked down at neatly polished shoes. “Courf, shut up,” he protested, but his voice didn’t seem to be working properly. He didn’t even dare glance at Grantaire. That was not a face he needed to see just then.

The others had overheard, or were at least catching on to the reason for the commotion. “Sorry, boys,” Eponine interjected, crossing her arms and flashing her usual smirk. “You chose to stand there. Let’s see some action!”

“Give it a rest, ‘Ponine,” Grantaire snapped. “He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.” 

At that, Enjolras’ head whipped up. That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Grantaire didn’t sound like he was protesting. He didn’t sound put off by the idea or grossed out or any other one of Enjolras’ fears. Instead, he sounded more like it was Enjolras against the very idea.

And that simply wouldn’t do. 

Setting his drink down and reaching out to gently pry Grantaire’s away, he stepped the few inches closer to bridge the gap between them and, with that last ounce of courage he had, brought his mouth to the artist’s. He’d planned on a simple peck, something to appease their audience and at least show Grantaire he wasn’t entirely disgusted by the idea.

His body and mouth had other ideas, and apparently there were no protests against it, because he found his arms casually sliding around a slim waist and his lips tasting for far more than a peck. The man tasted of brandy and the Christmas pound cake Cosette had baked. And, for a far too brief for his liking mistletoe based kiss, it was pretty perfect.

He could almost tune out the cheers behind him if he tried hard enough.

When they pulled apart, he flashed a shy smile. To his surprise, though, Grantaire only nodded at him, then moved off into the crowd of their friends. Only years of political debates could help him hide the hurt and confusion on his face. Instead, he turned it into an expression of embarrassment, looking to Courf with a glare.

***

Three weeks later, Christmas had passed in a quiet peaceful period. He’d spent some much needed time with his family, even being able to ignore his father’s constant pestering about why couldn’t he have gone into medicine like that nice friend of his. His sisters showed him their new toys and twirled in the dress up costumes he’d gotten them, and his mother berated him for not eating enough in the city and fed him constantly.

And, honestly, he was grateful for some time away from the friends who kept pestering him for details on his pre-Christmas kiss.

But the day after Boxing Day found him on the train home and before he knew it, he was at Joly’s annual New Year’s Eve party. He couldn’t make himself miss it. Even if it did mean possibly setting himself up to be humiliated all over again. If necessary, he’d just hide behind ‘Ferre as he often did when it came to being social. 

In fairness, it was over an hour before he even saw him. Enjolras hadn’t had the courage to bring up his name and no one seemed inclined to help him with that subject. So he let himself get wrapped up in talks of everyone’s holidays, occasionally chiming in. New Year’s wasn’t the holiday for him that Christmas was, but he did enjoy the feeling of starting over, having an excuse to do new things and become someone new.

The countdown was on the television in the background, some young singer Enjolras had actually never heard of obviously lip-syncing away while a clock in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen told them there was only ten minutes to midnight. It wasn’t until he turned away from the tiny diva on the screen that he finally saw the shock of dark curls moving through the crowd.

A part of him wanted to duck into hiding. But why bother? That close to midnight, someone was bound to come find him. He’d just hang out with the Courfeyrac and Combeferre till midnight, wait until an acceptable time for the hype to die down, and slip out. No reason to feel worse. It was a new year. And that new year could mean putting a hopeless crush behind him. 

Even if he could absolutely still taste those lips against his. 

The surprise, then, was probably obvious on his face when, of all the people in the crowded room, Grantaire found him. “Can we talk?” he asked, touching Enjolras’ elbow lightly. 

It was stupid. It was ridiculous and he felt like a schoolboy, but Enjolras still felt a little burst of hope flow through him. Call it that holiday season optimism. “Um. Yeah.” Never mind that it was five minutes till midnight and it was about to get insanely loud and raucous. But maybe that was for the best. “No champagne?” he asked, looking at the soda in Grantaire’s hand.

He desperately wished he knew the man better. It was a wide range of emotions that crossed Grantaire’s face at those words. “I gave it up,” he finally said a beat later. 

Enjolras eyed him carefully. “You gave up champagne?” 

The sound may have been meant to be a laugh, but it was weak and a bit breathless. “No, doofus. Alcohol. Drinking.” It seemed to be a struggle to say the words.

Shock admittedly crossed Enjolras’ face. “Really?” he asked, his voice quiet. This wasn’t even a subject he’d expected to come up. Why Enjolras had kissed him like his life depended on it, maybe. Or why he was so pathetically attracted to him, perhaps, especially given they bitterly argued at every possible opportunity. But he didn’t expect the man to tell him he’d given up something he’d fallen so deeply into. “Why?”

Those eyes seemed to pierce into him and Enjolras caught his breath. “I guess I just found something that mattered more,” he said softly. 

Enjolras felt all of his senses heighten, tuning directly into the man in front of him. Was he saying what he thought - what he so hoped he was saying? Words seemed impossible just then. How was he even supposed to form a coherent thought when Grantaire was still looking at him like he was the only one in the room?

“You ran off,” he said quietly, referring to the moment when Enjolras had thought maybe they were getting somewhere towards breaking this tension between them and Grantaire had, instead, left him wondering. 

The man nodded, stepping closer. God, he couldn’t breathe. “I did. I’m sorry.”

Their friends were counting down towards midnight. The numbers barely permeated the fog that had become of Enjolras’ brain. “It’s okay,” he whispered, but he knew Grantaire would have to read his lips, because the noisemakers and the shouts towards one were far too loud for him to be heard. 

A hand lightly touched Enjolras’ cheek and his body instinctively nestled into the touch. “Happy New Year,” Grantaire said softly, as the people around them yelled ‘One!’ and shouts of Happy New Year happened. Marius dipped Cosette into a far overdramatic kiss, Courf blew his noisemaker into everyone’s ears, Eponine literally jumped on Joly’s back and yelled “Happy New Year!”

All of that was lost to Enjolras, who suddenly found himself being kissed gently, at first, and then much more thoroughly when the action wasn’t rejected in the slightest. Kissing sober Grantaire, he found, was even more pleasurable than kissing one who’d spent half the night drinking. And it was pleasurable. Entirely so. The man clearly knew what he was doing and made up for Enjolras’ inexperience with ease. 

“Want to go outside?” he asked as he broke the kiss, searching Enjolras’ eyes with his own. For the first time in his life, Enjolras was actually speechless and merely nodded, moving to grab their jackets from the closet in the hallway before they headed outside into unseasonably warm weather.

“Climate change,” Enjolras blurted. 

“What?” 

“Climate change,” he said more affirmatively. “That’s why it’s so warm out right now.”

Grantaire grinned, shaking his head as he sat on the steps of the apartment complex, nodding for Enjolras to join him. “You’re such a dork. All the things we could talk about and you pick climate change?”

Though he sat beside him as requested, Enjolras shrugged sheepishly. “To be honest, Grantaire, I’m not sure what else to say. I spent my Christmas break thinking you hated me for kissing you.”

“We kissed each other,” Grantaire challenged. “And it was under the mistletoe, it was sort of required.”

For a moment, Enjolras felt his heart clench all over again. But then he scrunched his face thoughtfully, a gesture which brought a gentle smile to the artist’s face. “But that. Back there. What happened inside. That wasn’t.”

The dark haired man gave a tiny smile. “Fireworks,” he protested. “I get majorly turned on by fireworks.” 

It took a moment for Enjolras to realize he was teasing. “What do you know,” he attempted to tease back, “I get turned on by horns blowing. We’re quite a match.”

The words hung in the air. Though he may have said them teasingly, he did mean them. They were a match, or could be if they were simply willing to give it a try. Grantaire seemed to be struggling with words. Speeches were Enjolras’ thing, not his. “I’ve spent so long thinking I wasn’t good enough to even breathe the same air as you. I sure as hell didn’t think I deserved to be kissing you. But then you kissed me, and willingly. I thought… I thought maybe if I tried, I could work to be good enough.”

Without letting his mind thinking about what his body was doing, Enjolras reached out, touching the light scruff on the man’s cheek gently. “I don’t want you to change for me,” he protested. “If...if you’re going to make that change, it needs to be for you.”

Grantaire laughed again, this time almost sarcastically. “Then you may have to wait a while. But please know, I’m working on it. Maybe it is for you. Maybe, someday, I’ll have it in me to do it for me. But you’re right. I don’t have this in me anymore. I miss...I miss being me. I want to paint because it’s in me, because I have to, not because I’m expected to. I want to play piano again, I want to laugh and have fun and not have people hate being in the same room with me because I make things uncomfortable. And… I want you to want me, too.”

His eyes dropped and his smile turned shy. “You don’t have to worry about that. That part’s taken care of.” 

He was forced to look up again by Grantaire’s fingers under his chin, turning him to look up at him. The moment was changed, however, by the soft kisses he found himself receiving a moment later. Which turned into more intense kisses. Then soft, slow, sloppy. So many kisses, Enjolras actually thought maybe they kissed more than he’d ever been kissed in his life. 

All track of time flew out the window, so when the doors opened and their friends started spilling out, he blinked in surprise. “I thought you guys would be in there all night,” he blurted as he pulled slightly away from the man in his arms. Grantaire only grinned a smug smile as Bossuet kicked his hip with his foot. 

“It’s nearly four am,” Combeferre pointed out, his smile wolfish. “Which you would know if you two were focused on anything but each other. Joly is kicking us out, and by that I mean he passed out and we’re bored. We’re heading to breakfast if you guys want to come.”

A part of him did want to. However, his hand reached out, taking Grantaire’s hand in his. “Actually,” Grantaire replied, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’, “I thought we’d go see the sunrise by the river. I’ve got a new painting Apollo’s helping me with.”

That, frankly, sounded like a much better way to celebrate the first day of a new year.


End file.
